The Subtle Death of Birthday Cake
by blahosaurus
Summary: They were all kids....once. Different characters when they were children; Akatsuki, Sannin...


_Just Paper_

245.

246.

247 paper cranes.

The room was made of cold stone, as was typical of Rock Village. Tatami mats warmed the floor and rice-paper walls thinly enclosed the space that was occupied by nothing but a woman with startling blond hair and cuts on her fingertips surrounded by 247, 248, 249 paper cranes.

A little boy watched from the doorway as his mother folded corners down and up and round. Blue eyes squinted in order to catch the movement and his hands itched with the want to try and feel the cutting edge of the sheets against his skin.

"Okaa-san?" he called softly to his mother, not wanting to upset her. She did not pause in her task until she added another crane to the flock.

"Yes, Deidara? What is it now?" she asked, looking up to coldly regard his son before reaching for more material. Feeling fairly safe in his mother's ignorance he stepped forward, being immaculately careful not to crush any of the bird-like creatures on the floor. For a second the woman looked up sharply and said,

"You clumsy boy, don't you dare step on them," in a tone which ran ice through his hands and spine.

"Yes, Okaa-san," he whispered and danced around the hills of paper until he carefully sat beside his mother, looking around the room. The things on the floor were all white and still and lifeless.

"Okaa-san...why, hn, why are you making so many of these?" he asked passively, the simply curiosity of a 4-year-old. His mother kept on creasing and measuring and cutting.

"Are we throwing a party?" he inquired further, not reading the signs of danger in the silence. In an instant, however, his mother had reached out and struck the small boy on the head with the back of her hand. Deidara winced, shrinking away at once with his hands raised.

"Don't be such a fool, boy! How can you think of throwing parties when your father is in the hospital?" she sneered. Deidara said nothing, glancing at his mother's creations again.

"Does..hn, does Otou-san like paper cranes then?" he asked hopefully. Deidara was good at artistry, he had discovered early in his life, but his hopes were crushed when his mother looked at him disgustingly.

"_No_, your father doesn't _like paper cranes_," she spat. Deidara couldn't help but shy away again, but his mother didn't strike him, merely continuing with her work.

"If I make 1000 paper cranes for your father, he'll get bet."

Deidara thought this over carefully. Making 1000 paper cranes would save his father from the illness that had taken a hold of him since the boy could remember? Everybody said it was a curse Deidara had brought upon his own father for, since the year he had been born, his father had fallen ill, a disease neither ninja nor civilian doctors could manage.

He couldn't think how that would ever work. As far as his young mind had come to comprehend, multitudes of cranes couldn't save a life. He looked down at his hands, opening them slowly. In the centre of them lay two open, hungry mouths. It was supposed to be a very rare and precious blood limit but so far it had proved useless. More than that, it was nothing but harming.

Paper was just paper and art just art. Could it really do something as wonderful as save his father?

"Can I...hn, can I help you?" he questioned quietly, looking submissively up at his mother. For a long moment she stared at him until her face seemed to crumble somewhat; creasing and folding like the cranes she was making.

"The quicker I get this finished the better, I guess," she conceded, her voice somehow softer. Deidara smiled widely, relishing in the small acceptance. He at once grabbed two pieces of paper and crunched them up, feeding them to the mouths on his hands. From the corner of his eyes he saw his mother flinch but he continued, eager to please. He concentrated his chakra on what he wanted. _Something useful. _

Seconds later two slightly creased paper cranes appeared on his hands. Filled with pride at the creations he looked up at his mother but his expression broke as soon as he looked at her eyes. They were coated with what was unmistakeably hatred.

"Get out. Get out, out, _out!" _she ended up shouting, the noise a piercing wavelength that had Deidara stumbling on his feet. He fled from the room, crushing a few paper cranes on his frantic way out, drawing a low groan from his mother, like that of a madwoman. Deidara kept on running, running, out of the house, out of the apartment, out, out. A sob came from one of his hands. A laugh from the other.

That paper would do nothing for his family. It would stay around his rotting father as he tried to be eternal. Their forms would stain and rip into ugliness.

Deidara ran and ran and ran and decided. He would show them what real life, art, was. A moment of splendour that was never given the chance to die as his family was doing.

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

**A/N**

Don't hit children. They learn how to use explosives. And pokemon-like-birds.

Probably Itachi next.

Good deed for the day; Feedback please:3

Birthday cake, anyone? 8-O


End file.
